


He Walks in Beauty, Like the Night

by Overzealousshipper (Satyrykal)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: All dogs are immortal and you can't tell me otherwise, Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Childhood Sweethearts, Earl Viktor Nikiforov, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, I Tried, Lord Viktor Nikiforov, Love letter to history, M/M, Makkachin will live forever, Marquess Viktor Nikiforov, Marriage of Convenience, Okay some angst, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, References to Jane Austen, Regency Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Them boys are soulmates, Vicchan Lives, Viktor is Catherine the Great's Illegitimate Grand Son, YOI Regency Week 2020, courting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satyrykal/pseuds/Overzealousshipper
Summary: As the years passed, Yuuri and Viktor became nigh inseparable—forgoing the company of others their own age to mingle instead with each other. Wherever Viktor went, his faithful shadow followed—spinning stories and adventures as they wove themselves through woods and corridors alike.Young as they were, neither set of parents tried to discourage their amity. For the Katsukis, it was an honour to be so linked to a Great family. For the Ladies Hertford, they were beyond a care—beyond reproach and dismissive of petty rumours.There was no discussion of propriety, for what harm could come from a boyhood friendship?YOI Regency Week 2020
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 206
Kudos: 339
Collections: YOI REGENCY WEEK





	1. Well Bred, Well Informed (Of Gentle Address)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the astounding, amazing, and awe inspiring: [MorriganFae](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9018971/MorriganFae). You are a Dream Weaver. Thank you to the moon and back BAE 😂
> 
> Moreover, special thanks to [FrozenBrownie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenBrownie/pseuds/FrozenBrownie) for all your wonderful help and wealth of resources for historical research! 📜
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is my contribution to Regency Week! Each chapter is inspired by a different prompt, but the story is continuous and linear. I've made it as historically accurate as a fanfiction can be. Most of the places listed are real, and all character names are directly from YOI, historically significant figures, or individuals named in Jane Austen's works. I hope you enjoy ^.^
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regency Week Prompt 5 - Falling in Love Over Societal Borders (Etiquette)

_Warwickshire, England – July 1799_

Ragley Hall was revered as one of the most beautiful estates in all England, but despite its well-tended grounds and immaculate gardens, it had been left empty for many years. Its proprietor—the Marchioness of Hertford, had long been out of the shire as she gallivanted across the Continent for the better part of a decade.

It appeared however, that Lady Hertford was finally returning with her bride and son in tow—the prodigal daughter to occupy her country seat at long last.

The nearby market town of Alcester and its society were in titters, eager to renew their acquaintance with such an eminent alpha and meet her foreign wife. It was all anyone who was anyone could talk about as they anxiously awaited their arrival.

It was on one such day, during the throes of summer—that our story began.

* * *

Hiroko Katsuki was an amiable beta of sweet disposition. She had married a gentleman alpha of local note who owned an array of businesses including the salt spring spas of Droitwich. Together they had two children. Her firstborn was confident and headstrong, a newly presented alpha who was well liked within her social sphere.

Her youngest was another case entirely.

Yuuri was precocious and kind, but despite her best efforts, he would much rather keep to himself or hide behind his mother’s skirts than interact with others outside his nuclear family. It came of no surprise then, that her son had once again concealed himself when guests came to call at Hasetsu House.

Hiroko resigned herself to search for him once her morning visitors had gone.

“The parson’s husband said the carriages passed their house just this week. I do believe the Ladies Hertford are now in residence.” Mrs. Fujiwara proclaimed, eyes bright as she took a sip of her tea.

Hiroko dipped her chin, thoughtful as she glanced out the window of her drawing room where the road to Ragley was visible.

“I have heard Lady Hertford-Nikiforova has not spent much time in the country. I hope she doesn’t find it dreadfully dull after all that time spent in Town.”

“Oh yes, she is supposed to be the most fashionable of omegas—she patrons the finest modiste in London,” Mrs. Fujiwara concurred before depositing her cup on the table. “Though I heard that the reason Lady Hertford left court so abruptly was that the prince was paying her lady wife too much attention—if you understand my meaning.”

“Mrs. Fujiwara!” Hiroko gasped, eyes flying to the door to make sure they were not overheard.

The omega followed her gaze and lowered her voice only marginally, leaning forward in earnest. “It is true, though considering the circumstances of her birth I can not say I am surprised. Lady Hertford-Nikiforova must be a beauty if she caught the marchioness so thoroughly.”

“I dare say you give rumours too much credit,” Hiroko scolded, adjusting her spectacles. “One must give them time to settle in, but Mr. Katsuki intends to pay them a call next week to resolve some business with the estate. I shall wait to form my opinion until I hear an account from a _reliable_ source.”

Mrs. Fujiwara sniffed and opened her mouth to respond, only to close it again when the maid knocked before entering the room.

“My apologies for interrupting ma’am, but we found young Master Yuuri.”

Hiroko smiled, “That is marvelous, I was afraid I would have to look for him myself. Will that be all Sally?”

The girl fidgeted where she stood, peeking behind her shoulder. “Well actually, it um—he appears to have brought a friend?”

Hiroko blinked.

“He is six.”

Sally shrugged halfheartedly to that, “Miss Katsuki is with them in the back parlour.”

Gathering her bearings, Hiroko nodded—hastily making her apologies to her guest for the sudden adieu. After bidding an overly curious Mrs. Fujiwara a farewell at the door, she made her way through the house towards her son.

As she approached, she picked up the familiar notes of sea mist—twining with a hint of fresh cut roses. Had the garden doors been left opened?

Entering the room, she recalculated— _not_ the garden then.

For there, seated side-by-side on a settee in the corner of the room, were two children. Yuuri’s feet were dangling over the edge of the worn crimson velvet, not quite touching the floor as he rested his elbows on his knees, rounded cheeks squished from where he was leaning them into his hands. She fought a sigh at his forgotten posture. He was listening attentively to his companion—enraptured by whatever tale was being spun.

The other boy, Hiroko noted, was tall and lithe—likely a few years older than her son. He was also the source of the floral fragrance.

Striking spools of silver hair were pulled up from his nape in one long tail, the ends brushing the collar of his fine tailored coat. He was gesticulating wildly, a heart-shaped smile on his lips as they both began laughing—the room saturated with the scent of sea and summer blooms, undercut by the notes of powdery contentment universal to those yet unpresented.

“Okaasan!” Yuuri called, having spotted his mother. He rearranged himself instantly—folding his hands over his lap though his feet continued to swing back and forth.

“Hello dear, and who is this?”

“This is Viktor!”

The boy in question stood from the settee, his posture immaculate. He tilted his head slightly, wide blue eyes crinkling at the edges at the force of his smile as he bowed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Katsuki.”

Hiroko chuckled before inclining her head slightly.

“The feeling is mutual, though I do not believe we have crossed paths before.”

“My family has only just relocated to the neighborhood; I must have wandered a bit too far,” he contemplated before brightening once more. “Then Yuuri here rescued me!”

The older woman wrinkled her brow, suspicion rising.

“I’m glad to hear it. Pray tell, what is your family name?”

“Seymour-Nikiforov, madam.”

Hiroko’s eyes widened, fingers patting down her skirts out of habit. “Viktor, by chance are your parents—”

“—The Marchionesses of Hertford,” he announced proudly, lifting his chin to meet her gaze more directly. “We arrived just three days prior.”

“Do they know where you are right now?”

The little lord gave a careless shake of his head, flipping that long braid of mercury over his shoulder. “No, I was following the river downstream and got lost.”

“You know Okaasan, where the willows are.” Yuuri chirped from his seat. His mother hummed in acknowledgment, that was one of the first places her son tended to run to when he was upset. It was not a half mile from their manor, on the border of the estate beside them.

“Well, Lord Seymour—”

“—Nikiforov if you please,” Viktor interrupted, enthusiasm still painted across his lips.

“Then Lord Nikiforov, I’m sure your parents are rather worried. We will escort you home.”

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to have said because little Yuuri yelped, catapulting off the settee and to tumble into his new friend—seizing onto his arm.

“But Viktor just got here!” He whined, jaw set tight despite the wetness beading his lashes—sour distress wafting out from him.

“Lord Nikiforov,” Hiroko corrected gently, “is most assuredly missed, it would be imprudent to keep him.”

To her astonishment however, Viktor seemed rather distraught himself—ducking down to shush the child sized barnacle attached to his hip, cooing softly.

“It’s alright Yuuri. I will come visit and—and! Next time I will bring Makkachin!” He vowed, smoothing the shorter boy’s hair in an attempt to calm him down.

Putting aside who _Makkachin_ was for the moment, Hiroko watched them silently. She did not know whether to be alarmed at their easy intimacy. The lordling was nothing like what she had expected, and yet she could not remember the last time her son had taken to anyone so quickly.

It reminded her of...

She wiggled her nose, distracted as she discerned whiffs of smoke and honey in the room. Turning, she followed it to where her very amused daughter was leaning against the doorpost, watching the two boys with raised eyebrows, her cravat slightly askew.

“You should have seen them when they arrived, Okaasan. Yuuri practically came bouncing through the doorstep with a lost duckling in tow.” The alpha drawled, quiet enough not to attract attention from the children. Her mother scowled at her, redirecting the conversation.

“Did your father take his horse to town?”

“No, the carriage. Ser Okukawa is expected to return with him for dinner.”

Hiroko glanced back a bit helplessly to where a future marquess was currently on his knees in her parlour—trying to quiet her agitated pup.

“God help me, we’ll have to walk him back then. Surely they will overlook such a premature visitation if we are simply delivering their wayward heir,” she mumbled, half to herself, as she called for the maid.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Hiroko found herself at the door of her home, armed with a parasol and her best walking shoes, intent on returning the young lord before her. The very same one who seemed to be shrinking further away from the entrance with each passing second, aqua eyes sharp as he worried his lower lip.

“Is everything alright?” She asked patiently.

He hesitated, peering over his shoulder at the now sniffling form of her son.

“Well, can Yuuri not at least accompany us?”

The boy in question perked up, chin slightly wobbly even as he swiped his face with pudgy fists.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Mari was faster—snickering from where she had one hand hooked in her baby brother’s shirt to keep him from vaulting out towards his new friend.

“Well _my_ _lord_ ,” she emphasized, “I’m sure _Yuuri_ will be more than happy to attend to you.”

Hiroko frowned; she would have to have words with her daughter when she returned.

For now, she simply sighed and gestured encouragingly to Yuuri who had quelled. Crimson dusted his cheeks as he toed the floor, all urgency rushing out of him as he shyly agreed.

Viktor beamed, irises twinkling as he held out a hand. Yuuri bounded forward to grasp it, their fingers entwining as they fell into step together—much to the overwhelming glee of their visitor.

In the end, the walk was pleasant.

It was just shy of two miles, and most of it under the cover of shade from the elms lining the road. Hiroko inquired after Viktor as they went. Was he liking the area and was his family well? Each of his answers were decorous and respectable—a sure sign of good breeding.

She would say he was a perfect young gentleman, but the impression was marred by the fact that he was skipping as he spoke, arm swaying wildly where her son was still soldered to his hand.

For the most part, she contented herself to listening as Viktor questioned her boy—amused but pleasantly surprised to see Yuuri opening up—no hint of timidity lingering as they chattered intently about the new litter at Ragley’s kennels.

Then, they were upon the manor.

Ragley Hall sat on a sprawling park that took up miles of wood and game trails. It was an imposing Palladian structure of limestone ashlar and Venetian glass—fifteen bays strong. Its portico was flanked by two large winged stairs and elegant pillars. The gardens were overflowing with peonies and columbines and rivers of lilac—cascading into rows upon rows of prized sweet briar.

They had only just come into view of the stable blocks—likely twice the size of Hasetsu House—when they noticed the frenzy of retainers flocking the grounds. A shout drew their attention towards a groundskeeper jogging towards them.

The man bowed quickly, clearly flustered as his gaze drifted towards Viktor, who was doing his best impression of a statue—his shorter shadow hiding behind his pant legs.

Hiroko waved off his thanks as he explained the chaos the estate had fallen into when their young master had wandered off four hours prior.

“I can escort him back to the main house ma’am, if you’d like. You’se come a long ways.” He offered, only to be interrupted by his quarry.

“Mr. Morris, they cannot leave. I have not yet introduced Yuuri to Makka,” Viktor complained even as Yuuri pressed closer to the older boy, his courage lapsing.

Both adults turned to him in confusion.

“Who’s Yuuri?” Mr. Morris asked warily.

“Makka?” Hiroko inquired gently. Another friend for Yuuri perhaps? At this rate, she would have to have calling cards made for him, he was becoming so popular.

Viktor seemed undaunted by their bemusement, drawing up to his full height—which, while substantially shorter than Mr. Morris', was well past Mrs. Katsuki’s shoulder.

“Makka is the most wonderful poodle in the world,” he declared as he smoothly pulled Yuuri beside him so the groundskeeper could see him. “And this is Yuuri. He found me. Finders keepers.”

The older man frowned, unsure of what to make of this declaration.

Hiroko, who had already been exposed to the children’s peculiar attachment, took pity on him.

“Thank you sir, but we have come this far already. I would be much obliged if you could notify your mistresses of our arrival.”

Mr. Morris agreed easily, glad to let Hiroko continue taking responsibility for his young charge as he sent word ahead.

A few minutes later, they found themselves making their way up the steps to the veranda only for the grand glass doors to fly open.

A woman glided out, her ivory skirts floating around her slender frame—her elegant coif collecting flyaways under the breeze. A lock of silver fell against her skin, framing high cheekbones, a delicate nose and ruby lips.

Eyes of evergreen focused on them as she neared—a wild winter storm.

“Vitya!”

“Mama!”

Viktor loosened his grip on Yuuri’s fingers, slipping from him to embrace the woman who could be none other than his dam—the fabled foreign Venus who had earned the ire of a generation of English omegas when she had stolen the marchioness’ heart a decade prior.

Lady Vasilisa Grigorieva Hertford-Nikiforova.

Hiroko observed mother and son quietly—the resemblance was striking.

She gathered her own pup towards her, allowing him to fold himself into her skirts as she watched the pair speak in rapid fire, the consonants musical and staccato and utterly unfamiliar.

Yuuri stopped nestling into the fabric against her leg long enough to peek up at her. “Okaasan, what are they saying?”

She brushed the hair out of his amber eyes. “I don’t know Yuuri, I don’t speak Russian.”

“Russian?” He mumbled, turning to look at Viktor. She gave a quick nod, mindful that the woman was now walking over, hand-in-hand with a chastised Viktor.

She introduced herself as the lady of the house and thanked them profusely, only the slightest hint of accent in her words.

“I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, despite the oddity of the circumstances. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” She asked.

Hiroko curtsied and prodded Yuuri carefully with her toe—he managed a wobbly bow.

“Mrs. Katsuki, your ladyship, and this is my son Mr. Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I am delighted, Mrs. Katsuki. Won’t you come in for tea? It is the minimum we can offer for your trouble.” Lady Hertford punctuated her statement with a look to her son who had the decency to look sheepish.

Hiroko hesitated, for one does not turn down such an invitation—but with an inch of dust on her, she was not fit for company. She politely explained as much.

“If you will have us, my lady, we would be honoured to call upon you again in the near future.”

Lady Hertford readily agreed, “Then I shall order you a carriage for your way back. I insist upon it.”

“If it is not an imposition.”

Lady Hertford beamed heart-shaped, assuring Hiroko it was the least she could do. They exchanged a few more pleasantries as they waited. Lady Hertford continued to express her gratitude—sincerity and warmth apparent in her speech. Her palpable relief in finding her errant son too genuine by a mile to live up to her notoriety.

Hiroko decided then and there that the gossip mongers had done that woman an injustice. Her good opinion was solidified as she watched Lady Hertford extend a hand and promise, to Viktor’s great relief, that Yuuri would be welcome to return at any time.

As the coach rolled to a stop before them, Hiroko could sense her son’s reluctance to leave, but with an open invitation to Ragley secured, she was relieved that he followed obediently as the footman handed both Katsukis up into their seats and shut the door behind them.

From his position on the steps, Viktor’s brows were drawn tightly, dejection clear on his visage as he observed their departure, craning his neck to see Yuuri as long as he could.

“Darling, your friend will be back to visit soon,” Lady Hertford soothed, meeting Hiroko’s eyes through the window.

“Certainly, you’ll hardly notice the time pass,” she coaxed, carding her fingers through Yuuri’s dark locks as he folded his legs beneath him to stare out at Viktor forlornly.

The driver nudged them into motion and the horses began to trot forward. Yuuri sniveled, small fingers flexing against the glass.

Viktor stumbled down a step in an abortive move to follow before his mother caught his sleeve. He paused, fidgeting in his spot as the distance between them grew.

“Goodbye, Yuuri!” He called—expression just a bit lost as he clung to the railing.

Hiroko watched as her son’s cheeks flushed. Yuuri scrambled to press his face to the window, both hands waving frantically in response.

“Goodbye Viktor!” He shouted, breathless—eyes wide and bright as they fixated on the silver-haired boy fading from view.

When he could no longer see the gleam of starlit strands, Yuuri shifted on his knees, reluctant to turn around and sit properly. Hiroko let it be as the sharp tang of melancholy shrouded Yuuri, filling the cabin. Concerned, she stroked his back in a rhythmic motion in an attempt to pacify him. She hummed a soft tune as Yuuri collapsed down beside her and sorrow began to recede from his natural scent.

The soft aroma of ocean spray with a hint of—

Hiroko wriggled her nose, brow furrowing as she noticed the faintest suggestion of garden rose that clung to Yuuri still.

She straightened.

_Oh_ , she thought.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> \- This story is name after the famous 1814 poem by Lord Bryon called "She Walks in Beauty."  
> \- This chapter title is a quote from 'Sense & Sensibility' by Jane Austen, 1811.  
> \- Ragley Hall is the actual historical seat of the Marquess of Hertford, who comes from a branch of the Seymour family.  
> \- Droitwich is famous for its natural salt hot springs, for which the setting was chosen so the Katsuki's could still own an onsen.  
> \- Hatsetsu House is based off the real world Coton Manor.  
> \- Speaking of Japanese characters, there is no racism or homophobia in this world, but Yuuri's family descends from the extinct (but in this story extant) trading line created between England and Japan in 1613.  
> \- Viktor's mother Vasilisa is named after the famous Russian fairytale princess.  
> \- His mother would never be referred to as Lady Hertford-Nikiforova, just Lady Hertford - but as this story has a ton of wonderfully queer characters, same sex titles will include maiden names.  
> \- The prince mentioned is the prince regent, the future King George IV who was a notorious adulterer.  
> \- "Ser" is the gender neutral honorific for knights in this world (Courtesy of GRRM).  
> \- All the servants are named after characters from Pride and Prejudice.
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal


	2. Such Sweet Compulsion (Doth in Music Lie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regency Week Prompt 3 - Music
> 
> Beta'd by the astounding, amazing, and awe inspiring: [MorriganFae](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9018971/MorriganFae). You are a Dream Weaver. Thank you to the moon and back BAE 😂
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)

As the years passed, Yuuri and Viktor became nigh inseparable—forgoing the company of others their own age to mingle instead with each other. Wherever Viktor went, his faithful shadow followed—spinning stories and adventures as they wove themselves through woods and corridors alike. 

Young as they were, neither set of parents tried to discourage their amity. For the Katsukis, it was an honour to be so linked to a Great family. For the Ladies Hertford, they were beyond a care—beyond reproach and dismissive of petty rumours.

There was no discussion of propriety, for what harm could come from a boyhood friendship?

Ω

_Ragley Hall, Warwickshire – November 1801_

A knock sounded at the door.

“Lord Nikiforov?”

Viktor lifted his head from the notes his governess had him pouring over. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust—pupils dilating as he took in the familiar scent of a marine breeze.

His lips quirked up.

“No one else is here Yuuri,” he called, watching as the newly minted nine-year-old slunk into the library. Cinnamon eyes shifted back and forth as he edged closer to the desk by the hearth that Viktor had claimed for himself.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whispered, dark hair curled neatly behind his ears. “I have come to save you.”

Viktor canted his head to the side, setting down his quill.

“Save me?”

Yuuri nodded, brows set as he glanced furtively back towards the door. Seeming satisfied that no one was about to barge in and chase him out, he slumped against the bureau—arms folded beneath his chin. He looked up at Viktor with baleful eyes.

“You never play with me anymore. You are always trapped in here and _studying_ ,” he accused, nose scrunching and eyes too bright.

Viktor’s lips twitched at the heavy pout, pushing out of his seat slightly to offer up his arms. His smile grew when Yuuri reached back, burrowing himself in the embrace. The older boy patted the top of his head comfortingly, his own scent reaching out to sooth until Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed.

“I spent half the afternoon with you yesterday.”

“But I’m talking about _today_.” Yuuri whined, nuzzling his face into the thick gray wool of the Viktor’s coat.

“I am sorry, but Miss Pope will have my head if I do not finish,” he said. “Besides, Mother threatened to send me off to Eton if I do not behave.”

Yuuri poked his head up, squinting up at him through his fringe.

“Eton?”

“Boarding school.”

“ _Boarding school?_ ” He wailed, fresh tears embroidering his lashes, his dark eyes expanding to contain the whole universe. “They are going to send you away? They cannot Vitya, tell them they cannot!”

Viktor’s face heated, a primrose blush colouring his fair skin—he never quite knew what to do when Yuuri cried.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry,” he cajoled, mind racing as he realized his blunder. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on a book left by the divan. He stood, his chair creaking as it dragged against the floorboards—keeping one arm wrapped around his companion as he guided them both towards the plush cushions. Yuuri sniffled but sank down next to him.

“You can help me study—then I will have to stay. Surely they cannot spirit me away from such an excellent tutor.”

Yuuri wiped his face, listening carefully—hesitant.

“How would I do that?”

“Well,” Viktor began. “You could read with me; you know how I hate to read alone.”

He picked up the leather volume he had previously abandoned, _Twelfth Night_ emblazoned on the cover in gold leafed filigree, well-worn and well loved. With the Bard’s birthplace so close by, his collection was a necessity in all the libraries worth having.

Yuuri took it from his hands, resting it on his lap between them.

His spine straightened as he looked up at Viktor, eyes hard and determined.

“I shall, and you better pay attention. Elsewise even I will not be able to protect you from Miss Pope.”

At that, Viktor did laugh, amused at Yuuri’s sudden change of heart. He made himself comfortable as he settled in beside his friend—sapphire eyes soft as he leafed through the pages.

“I dare say, I’ve simply traded her in for a stricter teacher.”

Yuuri did not deign to respond, busying himself instead with nestling into Viktor’s side—head resting in the crook of his arm. Yuuri cleared his throat, looking up expectantly.

“Well, go on. Read to me.”

Viktor snickered but obeyed, patiently turning back to the beginning as he made himself comfortable against the cushions—basking in the scent of a summer sea.

“If music be the food of love, play on…”

Ω

_Alcester, Warwickshire – May 1803_

There was something to be said about England in Spring.

The wide gnarled branches of the elm trees were shaking awake with infant green, the mornings full of birdsong and the babbling of a newly thawed brook. Picking his way down the path from Alcester, Yuuri could not help but take in a deep breath—letting fresh air drag into his lungs.

Beyond the red clay road, the path ebbed into open fields dotted with clumps of wild daisies—partitioned off by wooden fences where the Lambiel farm began.

Under the shade of the country lane, however, it was easy to turn his imagination to what it had been like before the area had been culled for timber. He envisioned the woods before they had been cleared—when the farms and meadows had once been dwarfed by ancient oaks and maples. When the Forest of Arden was more than a memory, more than a passing tribute in _As You Like It_.

Then again, Yuuri wondered, as he watched a hare cross into the wild grass—perhaps he simply spent entirely too much time sequestered in the library with Viktor.

Shaking his head, he gained speed. As lovely as the view was, the skies were cloudy and pregnant with precipitation. His boots were new, and his father would scold him for trudging through the mud if it could be avoided.

A few minutes later, the sound of a horse’s hooves alerted him of a rider and he moved to the side instinctively, only to pause when a voice called out.

“Yuuri!”

He turned as a familiar face came into view. Viktor sat astride a chestnut mount, wisps of his hair fluttering freely from where they had escaped the wreathed braids around his temples. He slowed to a stop beside Yuuri, peering down with a grin.

“Good morning Vitya.” Yuuri greeted, fiddling with his shirtsleeves so he could tug them up and offer his palm to the mare without staining them.

“What are you doing out here on your own?”

“My sister and I were in town to see Ser Okukawa. She had plans to meet with Miss Dashwood after, so I started heading back myself.”

Viktor’s lips turned down, glancing at him and then down the road again. “But why are you walking?”

At that, Yuuri could not help but roll his eyes heavenwards, clucking his tongue. “Not all of us have a fleet of carriages at our disposal.”

Viktor’s brow crinkled, irises reflecting gray from the overcast. He opened his mouth to retort only to be interrupted by the beginnings of rumbling thunder.

“Nevertheless, I will not abandon you to the rain. Give me your hand, I will escort you home.” At that he bent down to offer his arm to the younger boy.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asked, nervously eyeing the horse—round cheeks puffing out.

“Of course, I’m an excellent rider.”

“Last month Lady Hertford banned you from the stables because you fell off your horse. Twice.”

“How dare you remind me of that unfortunate incident,” He said, features arranged in mock outrage—though he did not bother to conceal the twitch of his lips.

“Then there was the time you got your foot stuck in the stirrup and Mr. Morris had to come and untangle you.”

“That was three years ago.”

“It was last week.”

“Yuuri! I am cut to the quick,” he bemoaned, slumping theatrically on his saddle.

“You will live.”

Viktor huffed, swiping the hair from his face to tuck it behind one ear.

“Yuuri, please. The rain will start any second and as I will not leave you, it will drench us both.”

Biting his lip to keep from sniggering, Yuuri dipped his chin in agreement before clasping their hands—allowing his friend to hoist him up. Viktor pulled him up in front of him, one arm going around his middle to hold him secure.

Yuuri settled, squirming just slightly at the warm weight around his stomach, breathing in the scent of florets and petrichor, letting it wash over him. He instantly relaxed, leaning into Viktor’s chest. At fourteen, the older boy was all long limbs and sharp angles. Seated before him, Yuuri felt sheltered, wrapped safely in the cocoon of his arms.

“Ready?” Viktor’s voice came at his ear and Yuuri’s pulse picked up, excitement drumming through him at the prospect of a brisk run.

“Yes,” he breathed, letting out a shout of surprise as the horse was spurred into motion—the countryside falling away as they galloped down the road.

The sound of their laughter rang through the fields, echoing the cadence of the oncoming storm.

Ω

_Ragley Hall, Warwickshire – December 1804_

The musicians were exquisite.

Lively violins and clarinets and fiddles wove jaunty tunes that had the revelers in high spirits as they twirled around the great hall. The chandeliers glowed under candlelight, casting figures against the pale pink walls and delicate plasterwork. Gossamer skirts flared out in spins before returning to their stately partners as the cotillion played on.

The mantelpieces were decorated by fresh boughs of holly, each windowsill framed by garlands of spruce and pine—flooding the manor with Yuletide cheer. Supper had long since been served, and the carousers were flirting upon the edge of intoxication as the elder wine and port flowed freely.

The merrymaking rang through the corridors and main hall—echoing off the ceilings of the grand staircase to the other floors.

Occupied by the festivities—no one noticed the two figures slink past the parlours and to the upper landings. Giggling, they rushed into the east salon, closing the ornate carved doors behind them.

Viktor sighed, brushing back the tendrils that had escaped the black velvet ribbon he used to hold back his silken tresses. He smirked, incisors scraping the edge of his lower lip as he drew a hand into his superfine and withdrew the bottle of champagne he had managed to smuggle.

He wiggled his eyebrows, drawing a snort from his companion.

Yuuri pulled out the crystal flutes he had pilfered and set them on the table. He unbuttoned the front of his jacket so the blue waistcoat beneath it was exposed. It was one of his favourites, it matched the colour of—

“I wish you would burn that. It is abominable.”

Yuuri puffed up his cheeks before releasing the air from them all at once, unimpressed.

“Leave my clothes alone,” he scolded, passing one of the glasses to Viktor. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

The older boy smiled, popping the cork from the bottle and pouring the bubbly in a flourish.

“It is Christmas Eve.”

Yuuri took the glass back from him when offered, staring at the effervescent liquid doubtfully.

“For my birthday then.” Viktor hedged, plopping himself down dramatically over the chaise in a big huff. Yuuri grunted, which only served to make Viktor chortle and then they were both in a fit of hysterics.

Eventually Viktor sat up slightly, swiping his braid so it was no longer trapped between the pillows and took a sip. “You don’t have to have any Yuuri, but at least promise that you shall not turn me in for it.”

The boy in question shook his head, bangs falling into eyes of darkened honey. He took up the other flute and took a sip, tongue catching the errant droplets—sweet and heady.

“I will say nothing, but only because it is nearly your birthday,” Yuuri promised, settling in beside him on the chaise, letting his head fall back to stare at the plaster work framing the ceiling. Viktor chuckled, nudging him in the ribs.

They stayed like that, passing their bottle of contraband between the two of them—chatting idly as they relaxed by the fireplace.

“Did you see Mr. Collins ask my sister for a dance?” Yuuri questioned, running the tip of his index around the crystal, listening in fascination as it rang clearly through the room.

“He looked like he would perish where he stood when she denied him. Poor Mr. Collins, surely he knows Miss Katsuki is quite beyond him.”

Yuuri tilted his head to see his friend more clearly.

Clear blue gazed back at him from under an awning of silver lashes—lips stretched in a wide, dimpling on one side. Viktor was getting older, mere hours away from sixteen and on the cusp of presentation. Next winter, he would likely be downstairs at the ball himself, rather than spectating up here with Yuuri.

“Can you blame him for trying?” Yuuri asked.

“Well no,” Viktor frowned, scrunching his brows as he leaned up on one elbow. “But do you honestly believe they would be an equal match? Your sister would eat him alive. I would recommend he avoid the heartache.”

Yuuri swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, humming noncommittally as he drained the rest of his glass—the last dredges from the bottle. He cracked his fingers and stood, wobbling slightly.

“You are a newborn colt on those legs.” Viktor snickered, righting himself up as he finished his own champagne. Yuuri made a face.

“I am still more graceful than you,” He sniffed, twirling once on his heel.

“According to whom?”

“According to Ser Okukawa, and our mothers—really anyone in town,” Yuuri goaded, liquid courage flowing through his veins. At that Viktor stood, towering over him as he always had—though a recent growth spurt made him feel like a giant.

“You seem quite sure of yourself _sir_ ,” Viktor drawled as he stepped closer, forcing Yuuri to crane his neck to meet his gaze.

“I am.”

Viktor’s smile grew, all teeth.

“Then prove it,” he said, offering a hand in the space between them.

Yuuri faltered, staring at those long fingers stretched before him. His toes curled as he remained still. The crackling fire seemed to pull heat onto his skin and he resisted the urge to tug at his collar as muted chords of music drifted up from the stairs.

Viktor canted his head to the side, those long tresses cascading along one shoulder—shining gold under the firelight. He was ethereal, a fae of old and so painfully handsome Yuuri could not look away.

His head swam.

Had Viktor always looked like that?

“Will you?” Viktor asked, and from his expression—not for the first time. Yuuri just blinked, off-kilter. Amusement sharpened the older boy’s features before he offered his hand once more.

“Yuuri~” he sang. “Dance with me.”

“In here? How are we supposed to dance just the two of us?” Yuuri asked in genuine confusion—thinking of the long lines and constantly changing partners of the quadrille playing from the great hall.

“Just follow my lead.” Viktor coaxed, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, eyes alight like glittering shards of winter ice—a siren’s song.

Yuuri chanced a glance towards the chaise where they had discarded their gloves earlier.

Despite himself, he stepped forward and placed his bare hand in Viktor’s waiting one.

His fingers were warm.

They took turns around the room, meeting in the middle before separating again as they whirled around invisible partners. They grinned at each other through their mock set, modifying the steps their dance master had drilled into them with some improvisations of their own.

They faced off, palms pressed together while their other arms were held tightly behind their own backs as they went round and round and round until they were dizzy with it.

Yuuri felt as if he were lit aflame, his pulse racing in tandem with their movements—the room heavy with something. He was drowning in their closeness, so dissimilar to their normal mischief—the aroma of roses flooding his senses and curling around him like a vice.

On they danced, feet aching as one set turned into two and three—each iteration becoming less formal, less practiced as they stumbled through the steps. Delight seeping into the air as they spun.

The pair of them giggled as they danced oblivious at the edge of childhood—toeing the precipice of _more_.

Of something _new_.

Something that remained, still—just out of their grasp.

The clock chimed twelve tolls, and they looked at each other as they slowed—catching their breaths.

Blue eyes met gold, searching and soft and everything familiar. Viktor smiled, squeezing Yuuri’s hands tight in his own.

“Merry Christmas, Yuuri.”

Yuuri squeezed his hands back.

“Happy birthday, Vitya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> \- This chapter title is a quote from 'Arcades' by John Milton, 1634.  
> \- Young aristocrats were sometimes sent to Eton, though many were tutored at home and attended Oxford or Cambridge later on.  
> \- Alcester is next door to Stratford-upon-Avon which is the birthplace of Shakespeare.  
> \- The Forest of Arden is a huge historical forest that stretched through Midlands England, but by Shakespeare's era it was being cut down to build England's famous naval ships.  
> \- Dances in the Regency such as the cotillion were line dances and had minimal physical contact. The waltz and partner dances as we know them today became popular in London after the Napoleonic Wars and were considered scandalous.  
> -Speaking of scandalous, they also really shouldn't be using their given names so casually, which is why Yuuri waits for the all clear in the first scene to use 'Vitya' instead of 'Lord Nikiforov'.  
> \- In England 'Happy Christmas' became popular through Elizabeth II and 'Merry Christmas' was more used in Regency.  
> \- A few references of Austen characters in this one ;)  
> \- For ages: Viktor's birthday is Dec 25th, 1788 and Yuuri's is Nov 29th, 1792 (Gold star if you can guess why)  
> 
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal


	3. Yours, (&c.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update 2 June 2020:
> 
> Apologies for the delay - medical emergency forced my hand. Will update as soon as I can.
> 
> Original 24 May 2020:
> 
> Eid Mubarak to any Muslim readers ^.^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regency Week Prompt 2 - Letters
> 
> Beta'd by the astounding, amazing, and awe inspiring: [MorriganFae](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9018971/MorriganFae). You are a Dream Weaver. Thank you to the moon and back BAE 😂
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)

It should not have made a difference, but it did.

Viktor presented soon after his sixteenth birthday.

He had been cantankerous for days leading up to it, snapping at just about everyone—wanting nothing more than to shutter himself away and read with Yuuri. He wanted to burrow into the deep-set cushions of the chaise and idle away under the balm of his companion’s sea-soaked scent.

For the most part, the occupants of Ragley Hall left him to his own devices but that all came to a head when Miss Pope walked into the library, interrupting their most recent run-through of Beatrice’s soliloquy. The moment she opened the door, Viktor froze—spine gone ridged as he growled, _growled_ at his governess, shocking the room into silence.

After that, his mother put her foot down.

With little fuss, he was confined to his chambers for the better part of a fortnight, subdued when confronted by the domineering presence of the marchioness proper. After all, she was not a woman to be trifled with and who better to tame a young alpha than their sire?

When Yuuri was finally allowed back on the property, assured Viktor was once again respectable enough for company—it was as if nothing and _everything_ had changed.

Viktor was charming as ever. He was as willing to lavish Yuuri with his time and attention—but the problem was that it was no longer his to give. Presentation meant his introduction to society and all the responsibilities it entailed.

Suddenly, he was no longer Yuuri’s friend _Vitya_ —nor even Viktor or Lord Nikiforov—styled now as Viscount Beauchamp as he took on one of his mother’s courtesy titles. It mattered not that Yuuri was four years his junior and had not himself entered into adolescence. Viktor was an unmated alpha, and of high station at that.

To call him anything else was too great a breach of propriety.

So now, in the stolen moments where his friend afforded to see him—Yuuri found himself helpless in the face of what Viktor had become and what he himself could never be.

Ω

_Warwickshire, England – May 1805_

“Good day, Mr. Katsuki.”

Yuuri jumped, stumbling in the hallway as Lady Hertford came into view. He scrambled into a short bow—glancing up through his bangs to see the marchioness. Unlike Viktor’s _Mama_ who held the same sort of effusive charisma as her son, Elizabeth Seymour was another story entirely.

Her piercing blue eyes, just a shade lighter than Viktor’s, lacked his warmth. If he was the summer sea, she was a glacier of the north—cool and commanding, softening only in the face of her wife and pup.

“Good day, your ladyship,”

“I assume you are looking for my son?”

“I—yes, he said he wanted to tell me something?” He answered, voice rising in the end in question.

She cocked a slender brow, short blonde coif impeccable, hair swept artfully from her face—not a stray strand in sight. Her lips twitched slightly before she nudged her chin in the direction of the lawn.

“He was in the gardens not a half hour ago, I doubt he’s left.”

Thanking her, he bid her farewell, steps quickening as he left her presence—posture easing as he pushed open the glass doors to the gardens. He took in the nascent blooms and greenery—the air bright with the fragrance of roses despite the briar bushes bearing nothing more than juvenile buds.

He followed the scent down to the lawns, nodding in acknowledgement to the greetings called out to him by the passing groundskeepers.

Yuuri knew he was close when the bouquet was cut by a spike of bergamot—a note that had infused with Viktor’s after his presentation.

Turning the corner at the hedges, Viktor came into sight—a large ball of fluff weaving through his legs.

Yuuri grinned, picking up the pace as he veered towards them. The poodle lifted her head from where she had been running in circles, letting out a bark as she sprang forward towards Yuuri.

Confused, Viktor looked up—whistling to bring her back only for Makka to ignore him in her dead sprint for the younger boy. He frowned, pushing back a lock of sterling behind his ear, a beacon in gray wool against the backdrop of the forest. Scanning the lawn, his eyes widened as he spotted Yuuri, lips stretching into a broad grin.

“You came!” Viktor sang, jogging over to where Yuuri was kneeling in the grass, running his fingers through Makkachin’s thick coat as she tried and failed to climb into his lap.

“Of course I did,” Yuuri giggled, nuzzling into Makka’s neck to avoid her frantic efforts to lick his face. He glanced up at Viktor, corners of his eyes crinkling. “How are you today Lord Beauchamp?”

Viktor grimaced, “ _Yuuri_ ~ I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Everyone calls you that.”

“You’re not everyone.”

Viktor sighed, kneeling beside him to gather Makka in his arms, scratching below her collar. His hand brushing against Yuuri’s as he moved to her ears—a current sparking between their outstretched fingers.

Yuuri yelped, snatching his fingers away immediately.

“What is wrong?” Viktor asked, blinking slowly.

“Nothing. You just surprised me,” Yuuri said hastily, brushing off his knees as he stood.

A moment passed, stilted. Yuuri fought the urge to keep adjusting his attire, but the moment he let his hands drop, he wondered if his lapels were lying flat and proper.

“Well,” Viktor ventured, breaking up the silence as they began walking further through the gardens. “Does this mean I am to call you Mr. Katsuki now?”

“No!” Yuuri squealed, clearing his throat before starting again. “You shall always be able to call me Yuuri.”

“Then I insist you address me by my given name, as well.”

“It is not the same.”

“It most certainly is.”

Yuuri stopped, glaring at his friend. He had to crane his neck, not having hit his own growth spurt yet, but what he lacked in height he made up for in indignation. He crossed his arms as Viktor slowed as well.

“Are you being purposely obtuse?” Yuuri accused.

“Wherever would you get that idea?”

Yuuri scowled.

“Vitya, you are being ridiculous…” he started, only to cut himself off when the alpha began to chuckle, trying and failing to hide a smile behind his hand.

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbled—realizing his mistake.

“Indeed,” Viktor hummed, marine eyes glittering in amusement under the afternoon sun. He leaned in closer, ruffling the younger boy’s black mop whilst ignoring his protests. “Was that so hard?”

Yuuri smacked the alpha's hands away, smiling despite himself—carding his fingers through his hair in order to smooth it back into place.

“Fine,” he huffed, poking Viktor’s side in retaliation and laughing when he yelped. “but I still think you are ridiculous.”

At that point, Makkachin decided she had been patient enough and demanded attention—successfully distracting them from their conversation. She barked, tail wagging rapidly as she bounced between their legs, nudging them back towards the open grass where she would have free rein to run.

They spent time chasing her back and forth, tossing stray sticks to her mounting pleasure. Eventually they tired, and after begging some morsels from the kitchen, managed to pull together a passable picnic—fresh crusted bread with blackberry jam, slices of pork loin, a couple of tea dainties, and a liter of cool cider from the cellar.

They absconded with their parceled luncheon to their favourite river bend—settling their blanket under the shade of the willows, Makkachin at their heels.

After gorging themselves with sweet berries and fingerling sandwiches, they lay back—watching the light bleed through the clouds in the sky, basking in the warmth of the midday sun.

“Lord Beauchamp,” Yuuri started, amending his statement when Viktor grumbled under his breath. They were alone, surely there could be no harm in compromising. “Viktor, will you be attending Lady Hertford when she returns to Town?”

The marchioness, after spending years in the capital, frequently retreated to her country seat between sessions of parliament—for her dear omega had expressed a preference for Ragley over the sprawl of London.

Now, with their son finally of age—their participation during the Season would be expected. Yuuri had been dreading Viktor’s departure ever since he presented, but it had also felt inevitable.

Viktor turned on his side from his position on the blanket.

“No, I have no intention for London this year.” Viktor said, but there was an odd quality to his voice. His gaze was fidgety, flitting away from Yuuri to where Makka was stalking a grasshopper by the water banks.

Yuuri could feel the pit in his stomach deepen, at odds with the rush of relief Viktor’s words should have brought him.

“What is it?” He asked quietly and Viktor turned to him at last—sapphire peering out from beneath a fan of silver. He sat up, bracing himself on an elbow—a hesitant sort of excitement lighting his features.

“Remember that I had something to tell you? Well, I am not going with Mother, but _Mama_ is to go abroad.” He rushed, all heart shaped smiles.

Yuuri reeled back, “What, when?”

“This summer. We are to spend some time in St. Petersburg.”

“I don’t understand.”

Viktor shrugged, enthusiasm buzzing through him as he delivered the words, each an unknowing stake to Yuuri’s heart.

“She has not been back since her brother’s funeral and I had not accompanied her then. I have met half the _ton_ and then some here in England, but I know none of my family in Russia. When my cousin heard I presented, he insisted on an introduction.”

Yuuri wrinkled his brow. He scoured his mind for what he knew of Viktor’s dam—grasping at the mutterings and tidbits he had gleaned when no one knew he was listening.

Beautiful, elegant, but above all— _scandalous_. It was so at odds with how Yuuri thought of the gentle-bred omega. She was foreign and wealthy and titled in her own right. Despite it all, however, there was one fact that none of the _beau monde_ could seem to forget.

For all they clamoured for her attention and goodwill, behind their hands they whispered tidings of the illegitimate princess.

Lady Hertford, née Countess Nikiforova, was infamous for being the daughter of Catherine II, Empress of Russia—and one of her advisors. Many had warned the Marchioness of Hertford from taking on a bride born out of wedlock but she had ignored them, returning to England with her mate in hand.

“Vitya,” Yuuri paused, “When you say your cousin…”

Viktor grinned, all teeth.

“Emperor Alexander, he has summoned us to court.”

Yuuri swallowed, throat drying at the reminder of the differences in their ranks. He pushed the thought away.

“How long will you be gone?” He asked, subdued.

At that, Viktor's eyes narrowed—taking in how his friend's shoulders were curved inwards and his jaw was a rigid line, his throat tight. The alpha’s expression immediately softened.

“Likely for a few months, but I’ll write and truly it isn’t so long as all that. I will be back in time for your birthday.”

“You will?” Yuuri whispered, sounding small even to himself.

“Of course,” Viktor said, grabbing his hands and giving them a squeeze. “There is nothing to worry about.”

Yuuri nodded, some of the tightness in his throat subsiding. Viktor smiled, rubbing his thumb in minute circles over the younger boy’s knuckles—his scent rising around them, placating the ragged edges of Yuuri’s nerves.

“I’ll have such stories to tell you as well. Time will fly by and I will be back before you miss me.”

“Do you promise?”

“You have my word,” Viktor said, lips pulled wide and mood so contagious that Yuuri pasted a smile onto his own face—stretched taut as he willed himself to believe.

It would be fine.

Just fine.

Ω

Viktor left with both his mothers a fortnight later. They would travel together to London, at which point the marchioness would remain in Town for Parliament whilst her lady wife and only son would board a ship bound for St. Petersburg.

It was not the first time the family had left Ragley Hall since their arrival to the county six years prior. However, it was by far their longest venture away. Yuuri could not remember a time in his living memory where he had been away from Viktor’s side for more than two weeks.

Without him, Yuuri did not quite know what to do with himself.

Still, Viktor did not disappoint. As summer came to Alcester, so too did his first letter.

Ω

_Nikiforov Palace – St. Petersburg, Russia_

_7_ _ th _ _June 1805_

My Dear Friend,

I take my pen in hand to rely to you all that has passed since we last met. Russia is everything I could have imagined and more. It is almost always daylight, and I am told that when summer is at its peak the sun does not set at all! Mama tells me that these days, called White Nights, are full of festivities and my cousins promise me the most delightful distractions for their duration.

It is strange, for they have made me feel most welcome and we dine regularly at the emperor’s table, but the court here is so different than what I expected. The language is difficult, I felt my Russian has always been passable but it appears I have greatly neglected my studies. Mama was surprised herself; it was the fashion to speak French when she was younger but tensions with France run high and society here has forsaken it.

If only more people spoke English! It matters not, I have redoubled my efforts and everyone assures me that I am improving by leaps and bounds. The only thing that could make my trip better would be your presence. Please write to me soon and tell me how your family is, along with any news I have missed.

Your Faithful Servant,

Viktor Seymour Nikiforov

Ω

_Hasetsu House – Alcester, England_

_28_ _ th _ _June 1805_

Dear Lord Beauchamp,

I am happy to report that my family and our common acquaintances are all in good health. Lady Hertford has returned to Ragley and my father paid her a visit not two days ago. She is doing well but your absence, and that of her ladyship, are keenly felt. Apparently your kennel is due to have a new litter, and I wish you were here so we could go visit them.

Mr. Lambiel has also recently announced the birth of a new son and threw a ball in his honor. The little boy is named Deniss from what I have heard, and the neighborhood was in high spirits for the celebration. Apparently my sister was no exception and had quite the night herself. When Mari returned home that evening, she was thoroughly reprimanded for waltzing. Waltzing! It appears she has taken fancy to a young gentleman, a Mr. Takao who hails from Dorset. I wish I had been there to see it.

It is premature, but perhaps you will forgive me for saying you might return home to find me in possession of a new brother-in-law.

With Best Wishes, &c.

Yuuri Katsuki

Ω

_Catherine_ _Palace – Tsarskoye Selo, Russia_

_24_ _ th _ _July 1805_

Dearest Yuuri,

Please pardon the poor paper, the scratchy pen, and my horrid delay! My great uncle, Count Yakov, and his wife took me on a trip to Moscow and we are only now returned. You write that Mari has stood up with a gentleman, but I had to read your letter twice to believe it. Were we not scoffing at the very notion just this past Yulemas? She has always been quite vocal of her distaste for balls. This Mr. Takao fellow must be rather spectacular indeed.

I myself profess my love of dance has only increased since I have had the freedom to attend assemblies in my own right. Mama’s friends love to throw parties, and waltzing is quite in vogue here. I do not see what all the fuss is about in England, it is perfectly harmless. I will have to teach you when I return, you will adore it as much as I do!

I am quite sorry I will not be there for the arrival of these new puppies but do not let my absence prevent you from calling upon Ragley—I assure you; you are most welcome there. I have asked Mother and you will have your pick of the litter. Do not bother arguing, it has already been decided. Besides, I can think of no other better suited to care for one.

A Thousand Adieus,

Viktor Seymour Nikiforov

PS: Do you insist on addressing me so formally, or can you be convinced otherwise?

Ω

_Hasetsu House – Alcester, England_

_19_ _ th _ _August 1805_

Dear Lord Beauchamp,

I certainly do insist and you shall not persuade me. Do not hold it against me however, for you are off having such grand adventures and it is really quite dull here without you. You will leave me bereft if your letters cease. It is only made worse since you took Makkachin with you and I lack her company in addition to your own. I do hope she is well, for she is the sweetest of girls and deserves only the best.

I meant to write and reprimand you for excessive generosity, but I must admit I can only thank you. The puppies arrived last week and I went to visit. Mr. Morris took me to the kennel, and I had only meant to observe, but then one little creature was trailing behind all the rest and nestled in by my feet. I did not have it in me to leave him behind and he has now captured my heart entirely.

I have named him after a good friend and call him Vicchan. The summer will be over soon, and for once, its end cannot come soon enough. I eagerly await your return.

Yours Expectantly, &c.

Yuuri Katsuki

Ω

_Hasetsu House, Warwickshire – September 1805_

“Anything for me Otousan?” Yuuri asked.

He and his family were seated in the breakfast room, bright and airy where the windows were open to the garden beyond, allowing for cross ventilation. Yuuri had been picking at the remnants of his soft-boiled egg, washing it down with some tea when Sally brought forth the tray with the morning’s post.

It had been weeks since Viktor’s last letter, and his reply was due any day.

His father raised an eyebrow as he took the mail, and Mari chuckled.

“Let him at least check first, little brother.” She grinned, thanking her father as he passed her an envelope. Yuuri frowned, kicking his feet under the table where no one would notice, leg bouncing as his father sorted through the correspondence and distributed it.

“Nothing yet Yuuri,” Mr. Katsuki said mildly as he turned to his wife, “but you have something, madam.”

Yuuri wilted, trying not to be too disappointed. He slathered more butter on his toast, resolved to distract himself even as the conversation continued around him.

“Okaasan?”

Yuuri glanced up at that, dark eyes darting from the concern on Mari’s face to that of their mother—the normally jovial beta withdrawn and silent. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, mouth downturned. His gaze flickered to the letter in her hands, the wax seal visible from where he sat. It displayed a phoenix wreathed in flames, emerging from a coronet of roses.

It was the personal crest of Lady Hertford—nigh identical to that of her son who inscribed his with _Fide et Amore_ on a ribbon below it.

“Mrs. Katsuki, is everything alright?” His father called when Hiroko had failed to reply. At that she looked up from behind her spectacles. She shared a look with the alpha, passing the note over to him before turning her attention to her youngest.

“It is a letter from Lady Hertford. It appears her ladyship is on her way back to Ragley, and her wife will soon be returning as well.”

Yuuri straightened, a glimmer of anticipation rushing through him.

“But that is great news, is it not? They have been away so long.”

Toshiya cleared his throat, placing the parchment down as he finished reading as well—hand reaching for his wife’s in quiet support. She continued.

“Yuuri dear, when Lady Hertford-Nikiforova sets sail for England, Lord Beauchamp will not accompany her.”

“Why ever not?” The question came from Mari. Hiroko wet her lips unable or unwilling to look at her son as she ventured forward, voice laced with remorse.

“It appears he will be staying with his uncle for some time; he is joining in the campaign against the French.”

A moment passed.

Yuuri dropped his knife, letting it clatter against the china—the only sound as the room went silent.

Ω

_~~Hasetsu House – Alcester, England~~ _

_~~3~~ _ _~~ rd ~~ _ _~~September 1805~~ _

~~Lord Beauchamp,~~

~~Vitya,~~

~~My mother says you are staying in Russia. You are not a soldier—you like riding and reading Shakespeare and—~~

~~You are a nobleman, not an officer. Surely there has to be some mistake. Soon you will be back on English shores and will never even see this letter—~~

~~You cannot go to war, you cannot. Please—~~

~~Vitya you _promised—_~~

Ω

_Vienna, Austria_

_10_ _ th _ _September 1805_

My Dear Yuuri,

By now you will have heard the news. Though I wish it were not true, it appears I will not be home for your birthday after all. I am so sorry—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> -This chapter title is a general nod to salutations from the era, '&c.' being a particular favourite of Jane Austen and is featured in 'Pride & Prejudice, 1813.  
> \- Beatrice's soliloquy comes from Much Ado About Nothing.  
> -An heir would not be referred to as Lord "Family Name" past childhood but would take up one of his father's courtesy titles. Viscount Beauchamp is the first of two traditional titles for the heir of the Marquess of Hertford (who belongs to the Seymour family) .  
> -To be honest, I essentially just headcanon Viktor's moms as the actresses Charlize Theron (Vasilisa Nikiforova) and Cate Blanchett (Elizabeth Seymour).  
> -Vasilisa Nikiforova is based on the real life illigitimate child of Catherine the Great - Count Aleksey Grygoriovich Bobrinsky.  
> -Nikiforov Palace is based on the real world Bobrinksy Palace in St. Petersburg.  
> -Mr. Lambiel is a nod to Stephane Lambiel, who does not have a son, but does coach the real life skater Deniss Vasiljevs.  
> -Amazingly, the Hertford seal of the 4th Marquess really did have a crown of roses on it.  
> -Their family motto really is Fide and Amore, meaning Faith and Love.  
> \- The war referenced was part of the Napoleonic Wars, specifically the Fourth Coalition. Viktor is writing from Vienna the day the actual Russians arrived in Austria to ward off the French.
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal


	4. On with the Dance (Let Joy be Unconfin'd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient and apologies for the long wait! Remaining chapters to come out swiftly. Hope you enjoy it ^.^  
> \--  
> Regency Week Prompt 1 - Dance/Ball
> 
> Beta'd by the astounding, amazing, and awe inspiring: [MorriganFae](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9018971/MorriganFae). You are a Dream Weaver. Thank you to the moon and back BAE 😂
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)

Their separation was only ever meant to last a short while.

But then summer trailed into fall and the English countryside blazed crimson, leaves brilliant in their boughs before the gusts of winter shook them down—dousing the world in frosted white.

As Napoleon began marching east, Europe fell further into disarray and Viktor’s letters became more infrequent. Still, they were always full of effusive assurance of the young lord’s health and his ardent desire to return to Warwickshire posthaste. His homecoming was surely imminent because _victory is just around the corner, I am certain of it Yuuri—_

—And Yuuri believed him.

He believed him even as he found himself measuring their correspondence, not in weeks, but in months and then seasons until Yuuri forgot to expect any mail from Lord Beauchamp at all.

Ω

In the end, ten years passed before their paths crossed again.

Ω

_Brighton, England – 13_ _ th _ _December 1815_

The morning light filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft pink glow as a chambermaid stoked the fire to combat the maritime chill. Even on the upper stories of the townhouse, the hustle and bustle of the streets below could be heard. Hawkers shouted, peddling their goods while gentlemen briskly walked by with their eyes averted and shoulders straight, intent on their business as they wove between the carriages clattering down the cobblestones.

The city of Brighton was so much louder—so much _more_ —than the quiet of shire.

Yuuri found himself sitting against his headboard, blinking blearily even as his valet’s cheerful chirp encouraged him out of the nest of blankets he had swaddled himself in.

“Good morning, sir. Mr. Chulanont asks if you will be breakfasting with him today or if you would prefer your meals in your room?”

Yuuri rubbed his eyes, adjusting the collar of his nightshirt from where it was dragging down on one side. His body ached, bones creaking as he stretched tentatively, wiggling his toes as he considered. His throat was parched. Overheated as he had been for the past week, it came as no surprise. He had had no company, interactions limited to the knock on his door when he accepted his trays, only to be picked at and abandoned in favour of his bed.

He had always hated his heats—the twisting in his gut and the fire in his veins that led him to abandon his sensibilities—unable to find relief from that marrow deep itch beneath his skin.

They always left him bereft and unsettled, so Yuuri begrudged this one all the more for arriving during a visit to a dear friend. Sore as he was, he would not waste another perfectly fine day indisposed.

“I’ll join him Minami, will you fetch my robe?”

Soon Yuuri found himself dressed and presentable, his hair combed and his glands dabbed with a few drops of fragrance to cover the lingering sweetness of his scent. The silk of his dressing gown was tied in a neat cinch at his waist, draping elegantly over the plain shift he wore underneath.

It had been a gift from his aunt, the dark material cool and soothing against his skin. It was cut in a Japanese style, though the fabric pooled and floated in a way that gave it breathability—something he sought in the aftermath of his heat when his preferred shirt and trousers felt too constricting.

Taking a final glance at the mirror, he slipped on his shoes before making his way down the main staircase and to the boudoir where he knew his friend took his morning meals.

“Katsuki, I'm so glad to see you back on your feet,” Phichit cried as he walked into view.

Yuuri smiled as he took a seat across from the younger omega, taking a sip of tea from the service before him and letting the liquid warm him from the inside out.

“Thank you, I’m sorry to have left you on your lonesome,” he began, only to be waved off.

“It was quite out of your hands,” Phichit promised as he smeared some fresh clotted cream over the scone on his plate. “I shall not hold it against you as long as you will tell me which modiste made you _that_.”

Yuuri glanced at the sleeves of the long _haori_ that were gathered at his elbows, delicate trails of grape vines embroidered in sunset thread against midnight blue.

“I’m afraid you would have to ask Ser Okukawa, for she is the one who gave it to me.”

“Of course she was,” Phichit huffed, the ghost of a smile on his face. “It is unfair of you to keep her from me.”

Yuuri could only giggle at that, unable to imagine anyone bending the headstrong beta to their will. “I do no such thing. She is far beyond my powers of persuasion. You make it seem as if I have any control over her at all.”

“I suppose I can only be grateful. Your aunt curates the most exquisite fabrics this side of the Channel, I shudder to think how drab your wardrobe would be without her.”

Yuuri ignored the jab—knowing full well it was warranted. He had no sense for such things. The same could not be said of Mr. Chulanont.

“I dare say you would know. There isn’t a grander dandy in town.” He answered mildly as he stirred his drink.

“Ah Mr. Katsuki, what would I do without your wit? Pray, sharpen it on someone else and do not so abuse your old friend.” Phichit lamented, his own tea abandoned as he flopped a hand against his temple.

“Abuse you? I could never. My word is but a feather against the armour you wear.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asked, sitting up straighter as his pretense fell away. Yuuri’s lips twitched.

“Only that it glances off without so much as a dent. You are incorrigible as always.”

At that Phichit laughed, as unencumbered as he stood accused of being. He shook his head, dark eyes bright with mirth.

“Well, I am glad you are no longer indisposed. If you were, I was afraid we would have to change our plans for the evening for it would be unconscionable to abandon you on your own.”

Yuuri paused at that, brows drawn together. “What plans?”

The younger man grinned. “We have been invited to dance and dine by Colonel Giacometti. He is having guests stay with him, you see, and arranged a gathering as an excuse to entertain them.”

Yuuri hummed, “Far be it that we leave him bereft. Though I suppose I must take back my prior observation.”

“Oh, and what was that?” Phichit asked, head canted to the side.

“Only that I was mistaken and there does exist a man whose fashions are beyond yours.” Yuuri said, before his expression morphed into something sly. “He is not one to overlook, not that I believe that has escaped your notice.”

A deep flush bloomed on Phichit’s cheeks and spread downwards—just visible below the line of his muslin cravat.

“Yuuri!”

Ω

Evening found them in a coach with Phichit’s elder sister, Mrs. Muramoto, as chaperone—headed towards the waterfront and the open greens of the Old Steine. A few quick turns found them before a well-appointed terrace house, carved of limestone with imposing pillars acting sentry along its facade. It was newly built and as handsome as its stately neighbors, bordering the western gates of the Pavilion and only a stone’s throw away from the Theatre Royal.

If it had been his first visit to the residence Colonel Giacometti was renting, Yuuri would be distressed by the extravagance. It was not so much that he was unused to luxury—as frequent a visitor as he was at both Ragley and Hertford House in Town—but there was a comfort he associated with his childhood haunts that he found absent in the other great homes of Britain.

As it was, Phichit was a particular favourite of the gentleman and they had dined at his table several times since Yuuri’s arrival three weeks prior. Even if he was not fully at ease, Yuuri had certainly built up a tolerance to the man and his _peculiar_ brand of personality.

“His friends are visiting from London, all officers he met while abroad.” The younger man explained as they noted the bright lights gleaming from within the manor.

“That he met abroad, or who had met him?” Yuuri asked distractedly, taking in the chamber music spilling out the windows. “He is Switzer after all, never mind that he took a commission in His Majesty’s Army.”

“It is all the same, don’t be difficult. They are here hoping to take in the waters while on holiday.”

Yuuri raised a brow at that, “In December?”

“Oh hush!”

As they rattled to a halt, groomsmen approached and opened the carriage door, offering a hand to both omegas to let them down. Their coats were taken at the entrance as the sounds of discourse and banter echoed through the house—it seemed that the evening’s invitation had been circulated widely.

The dining room was closed off until supper, but the library was set up with liquor and cards while the grand hall was crowded with couples weaving between each other in a dance. Mrs. Muramoto left them near immediately as she spotted a friend, assured they could not get up to any true mischief in public.

They managed to secure themselves glasses of punch from the refreshments table before their host made himself known.

Colonel Giacometti towered above his guests—golden curls laid artfully atop his head. He was in his red service dress, epaulettes and all. He raised his arms wide in greeting before heading in their direction.

“There you are _Lieblinge_ , so pleased you could join us.” Christophe purred, kissing the air above their gloved hands when offered them. “You look lovely Mr. Katsuki, and Mr. Chulanont—a vision as ever.”

Indeed, Phichit cut a striking figure in the hunter green coat he had picked for the occasion, paired with a mustard vest and cravat. Yuuri himself had chosen lighter attire to prioritize comfort, forgoing breeches for a _robe japonaise_ —styled like the kimonos his aunt had introduced him to for his post-heats.

“You are too easy with your compliments Colonel,” Phichit scolded, a smile in his eyes.

“Better to give them freely than to deny you the praise you justly deserve,” He said with a wink. “Now come, let me introduce you—I have been sorry company for my guests and they need an injection of your good humour.”

They walked over to an alcove where a gaggle of individuals were gathered by a roaring hearth, tucked away from the main party. Bypassing a group arguing merrily over the latest policies in Parliament, the colonel steered them towards a pair of alphas by the windows.

“Please allow me to acquaint you. Misters Katsuki and Chulanont, these are my companions—Mr. Popovich and Ms. Babicheva,” Chris nodded towards them in turn. “We had the great pleasure of meeting in Paris not this spring past.”

The omegas both dipped their heads respectfully. Ms. Babicheva gave a flourishing bow in return, her shock of scarlet hair bouncing in a halo around her grinning face. The other’s response was more somber.

“Do not be deterred by Popovich—he is heartsick,” she stage-whispered. The man glared at her, nursing a glass of cognac as he fell back into the leather chair behind them.

“You cannot understand for you have never felt the sting of rejection,” he accused sullenly.

“I suppose you _would_ be the expert. Who is it that you are mourning now—Celine, Tara, Anna?” She jibed, pouring two fingers of her own drink before joining him in an adjacent chair.

“Her name is Anya!”

The redhead paused for a moment, tapping her lips. “I do believe it is Mrs. Trosko now.”

Mr. Popovich sputtered at that. Yuuri watched in alarm as man’s face turned a vibrant shade of puce, opening his mouth to retort—

“—Do not tease him Babicheva, or you will get him going and we will never hear the end of his plight.”

The interruption came from behind them.

The new alpha had approached without notice, footfalls silent. He was tall with broad shoulders framed in a crisp slate suit, an array of military adornments on his breast. His short silver hair was cut sharply and coiffed with a fringe falling over striking blue eyes—the deep, deep blue of the sky and sea.

Familiar eyes.

“There you are my good man; I was wondering where you went off to,” the colonel greeted before turning to the omegas. “Allow me to present Lord Yarmouth, The Earl—”

“—Viktor?”

Yuuri gasped, spine going rigid as their companions quieted. It took him a moment to register that it was he himself that had interjected. Yuuri felt the back of his neck burning, but whether it was caused from his shame at interrupting in such an ill-mannered way or from shock at the latest arrival, he could not say. The lord looked over at him with a slight frown, brow scrunching for a moment before his eyes widened in recognition.

“ _Yuuri_.”

Ω

The silence stretched taut as they stared at each other, amber and sapphire—only to be broken when Phichit cleared his throat. Yuuri flushed, looking down as he bowed lower than necessary.

“Pardon me, I forget myself. Lord…Yarmouth, you said it was now? It has been too long.”

The alpha in question blinked before his mouth twisted into a blinding smile and he moved forward with a hand outstretched. Hesitantly, Yuuri offered his own, only for his cheeks to ruddy when Viktor brushed his lips directly over the knuckles of his glove.

“You apologize for nothing. I planned on surprising my mothers soon but I hardly expected you to be here now,” Viktor began, squeezing his hand lightly before releasing it—eyes dark as he considered him. “I am glad to see you, Mr. Katsuki.”

What proceeded was a blur of excitement as their respective friends closed in. The sudden inquisition left Yuuri’s nerves frayed. Mortified by his use of the earl’s Christian name, Yuuri had stuttered out an explanation to excuse the impropriety.

They were childhood companions he insisted, separated during the war. It was a slip of the tongue—nothing of further concern.

And it would have been nothing if Viktor had bothered to substantiate his claims. Instead, the earl seemed content to let the crowd conclude what it would. They had exploded into titters, whispering behind their fans as word spread across the hall, drawing the gleeful attention of the gossip mongers and the great consternation of the rest.

Yuuri might have confronted him over it if he had not been so horrified at the attention. Instead, he excused himself just as the next set began—gratefully allowing a lady alpha to sweep him into the quadrille in order to escape conversation.

In contrast, Lord Yarmouth refused to stand up with anyone and spent much of the evening tracking the figure of his youthful acquaintance. Yuuri, in his distraction, did not notice.

Others did.

Yuuri spent his evening in the ballroom—losing himself to the allemandes and cotillions and a particularly rambunctious round of the scotch reel. Chuckling, he stepped away from the officer who was serving as his current partner, begging for a chance to breath before the musicians began again.

He headed to the periphery, pausing every few moments to greet a friend. He searched for the refreshments table, pausing only when he felt a tap at his shoulder. He turned to find a glass offered to him—the champagne effervescent and gleaming under the chandeliers.

“You looked thirsty.”

“Thank you.” Yuuri demurred, accepting the glass by the stem.

Viktor smiled in response, irises reflective like the surface of a spring. Yuuri took the older man's arm and was led to a side parlour that was blessedly less congested.

“You are quite popular this evening; I have hardly seen you sit for more than a handful of minutes at a time.” Viktor started as they stood alongside the balcony doors.

“It’s nothing like that. I’ve always enjoyed dancing and one doesn’t often have assemblies of this size in Alcester.”

“Oh? From what I remember Ragley Hall regularly hosts the neighboring locals.”

“Yes but the Ladies Hertford are rarely present during the Season. Besides, I do not think they have had much appetite for company since you have been away.”

“Well, I am here now—I suppose we will have to remedy that.”

“I suppose so,” Yuuri demurred. The silence stretched between them before he heard someone clear their throat nearby, shattering it. He blinked and glanced around, reddening as he realized he had been staring at the earl—caught in the familiar storm of his eyes.

Seeing a footman pass by, Yuuri quickly placed his cup on the tray.

“Thank you for the drink, my lord. I believe the music is about to start again and I have promised the next set to Mr. Morooka. I would hate to keep him waiting—if you will excuse me.”

Before Yuuri was able to make it far, a large hand caught his own and reeled him back.

“Wait, Mr. Katsuki,” Viktor murmured, loosening his grip without releasing it entirely. “Have you any more lines on your card tonight?”

“They are full, all but the last.”

“Then will you do me the honor of reserving it for me?” He persuaded; the wintry rose of his scent so heady that Yuuri nearly forgot the reason he had left it blank.

“It is a waltz Lord Yarmouth,” Yuuri wavered. “I have never danced it.”

“Lucky then, is it not? That once upon a time ago I had promised to teach it to you.” Viktor’s lips quirked up, the pads of his fingers light against the omega’s palm. Yuuri fought a shiver, all his senses zeroing in on the small movement. “You will save it for me?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathed.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Yuuri remembered little but time flying by in a rush of nerves as he was engaged with one partner and then the next, never with the same one twice.

At supper, he was seated with Phichit and some mutual acquaintances. Viktor was next to the head of the table. As the highest-ranking individual in attendance, it was only natural for him to have the seat of honor beside their host. Still, Yuuri could not help but glance over at him every now and again—fumbling excuses when he missed a question from the other guests and nearly spilt his white soup when he found the object of his attentions gazing unabashedly back.

Flushed, Yuuri drained the rest of his goblet—thankful when Phichit beside him merely cocked his brow and refilled it—saving him from having to ask for another himself.

After their plates were cleared away, the fiddles recommenced and an hour passed by before the final dance was announced. Biting his lip, Yuuri turned to scan the party only to find Viktor already at his side.

“I have come to collect my due,” Viktor grinned as he offered his elbow to lead the younger man to the center of the floor.

Yuuri stumbled slightly as they moved into position, frazzled by the close frame it required as Viktor took his hand and wrapped his free arm around the omega’s waist. Yuuri’s body was alight like a live wire—held so in the earl’s embrace.

Logic indicated that their nearness was a necessity; indeed it was confirmed by the stances of other pairs—though there were fewer participants for this last set and nearly all of them were Continentals.

Yuuri spared a stray thought for his chaperone, wondering how he had slipped by her notice for this last dance.

Then there was no more time for thought as the music began and the gentle pressure of Viktor’s hand guided them across the room. They completed several turns effortlessly, motions fluid as if they had practiced.

“I told you it would be easy, did I not?” Viktor’s voice came at his ear, low in the clamor of the hall.

“The credit goes to you, you lead well.”

“Nonsense. You haven’t been left alone all night—I know I am the envy of the room for I have the most graceful partner.”

Yuuri’s fingers gripping at the fine fabric on the alpha’s shoulder, “You jest.”

“I certainly do not,” He said as he turned them nimbly—Yuuri’s robe swirling widely around them in a fan of embroidered silk—strokes of bronze fading into garnet wings and the gold tipped feathers of phoenixes rising from his hemline to the middle of his spine.

Viktor pulled him back from the spin, hand warm even through the sash and his gloves. “I have always loved dancing with you, don’t you remember?”

“We were children, it is not the same.”

“No, it isn’t.” Viktor was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning Yuuri’s face. “You have grown.”

“It has been ten years—were you expecting me to be the same little boy I was then?”

“No,” He said thoughtfully, his hand tightening at Yuuri's waist. “I do not know what I was expecting.”

All too soon, the dance ended—they remained close as they held their stance a few beats past the final note. They stood frozen until Yuuri took a shaky step back, breaking the spell as Viktor’s hold on him dropped.

“Katsuki!” A voice called out and Yuuri glanced up to see Phichit waving to him from across the room. “It looks like it is about to snow, Satsuki has called the carriage round.”

“I’ll be right there,” He replied before turning back to Viktor. “I’m sorry, I must be going.”

“Yes, of course.”

They bowed to each other but as Yuuri straightened, Viktor leaned forward—catching Yuuri’s hand yet again to keep him from departing immediately.

“May I call on you tomorrow?”

Viktor’s face was earnest, those blue eyes wide in a way that bled nostalgia. Even in their youth, Yuuri had never been able to say no to that expression.

“Yes.”

Viktor’s smile stretched wider, the barest suggestion of dimples appearing at its edges. Viktor squeezed his hand tight before dragging it close and pressing his lips to the back of Yuuri’s glove—his thumb grazing perilously close to the scent gland at his wrist.

“Until then, Mr. Katsuki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> -This chapter title is a quote from 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' by Lord Byron, 1812-1818.  
> -The Naopleonic Wars ended in 1814/15 when the Russians swept Paris and Napoleon was exiled (twice).  
> -The date Viktuuri meet, the 13th December, matches up with the date of the GPF gala in 2015 which is when they met in the anime.  
> -Japanese styles and fabrics were very popular in Victorian England. In my world Japanese trade didn't break down so it is a bit early in this period. Yuuri regularly switches between Japanese and English styles since Minako is a bigshot in the textiles industry.  
> -Mrs. Muramoto (Phichit's sister) is a nod to Satsuki Muramoto, who is Phichit's second coach in the anime and also a real world figure skater.  
> -Brighton was a popular spa town in the Regency made famous by the Prince Regent whose lover lived there - it overtook Bath as the "cool kids" hangout.  
> -Switzers are what the Swiss were called back in the Regency (And why its called Switzerland in English today). It was occupied by the French during the wars.  
> -There was a famous Swiss contingent that fought under the British flag during the wars called the 'Regiment de Meuron'. That is how Chris served.  
> \- 'Lieblinge' means 'my darlings' in German which is one of the main languages of Switzerland that Chris likely knows. Anti-French sentiment kept me from using "mes amis".  
> \- Anya is called Mrs. Trosko in a nod to Georgi's voice actor's name.  
> -Historically the heirs of lords took on courtesy titles which changed as they grew older. Earl of Yarmouth is the penultimate title before becoming the Marquis of Hertford.  
> -Traveling in snow can be dangerous in a carriage which is why they were so eager to leave.
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal


	5. Love and Scandal (Are the Best Sweeteners of Tea)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, I hope you'll forgive me and allow me to blame it on this terrible year. Cheers to the end of 2020 ^.^  
> \--  
> Regency Week Prompt 1 - Tea
> 
> Beta'd by the astounding, amazing, and awe inspiring: [MorriganFae](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9018971/MorriganFae). You are a Dream Weaver. Thank you to the moon and back BAE 😂
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)

It was a well-known fact that no secret was ever left unturned in English society.

With little else to sustain them, the _ton_ devoured any morsels of gossip it could uncover—gluttoning themselves on scraps of scandal—veritable or false.

After the night of the colonel’s ball, there was ample fuel to fan the flames. A peer of the realm, of high standing and noble repute, had paid a gentleman’s son particular attentions. For not only had Lord Yarmouth snubbed others of rank and fortune, but it appeared that he was already acquainted with the omega in question.

An upstart, a rogue, an ingenue—descriptions of the young man abounded, but there was only one detail that could be widely agreed upon.

Whoever he was, the omega had thoroughly captured Lord Yarmouth’s notice—and that was a sin they could not forgive.

Ω

_Brighton, England – 14_ _ th _ _December 1815_

The dawn had chased their carriage home when Yuuri and his companions had finally escaped the party. Yuuri had instantly collapsed into his nest in a daze, wrapping himself into the plush comforter as he cocooned himself in its warmth. The scent of roses lingered around him as his eyes fell shut.

When he awoke at last, it was to the far too chipper sound of his valet drawing back the curtains of his bed, tying them against the posts with gusto even as Yuuri squinted at him balefully. The slant of sunlight told him he had slept the morning away, much to the amusement of his young attendant.

“But you asked me to wake you when Mr. Chulanont did, sir.” Minami chuckled, pouring fresh water into the porcelain basin in the corner of the room.

“Hmrmf.” Yuuri mumbled, face partially obscured as he burrowed back under the blanket, yelping when his valet tugged it away from him. Within the next half hour, the omega was wrangled haphazardly into his coat and shirtsleeves and was sent down for a later breakfast service with an equally sleep deprived Phichit.

The two friends settled into the chairs by the windows, hoarfrost embroidering the glass panes even as the fire from the hearth warmed their backs.

“I would ask what you are looking for, but I think I already know.”

Yuuri flinched, blinking away from the view of the garden below and the street beyond it, turning back to the reproachful expression of the younger man.

“I’m not looking for anyone.” He said, fidgeting with the edge of his saucer..

“I said _what_ not _who_ ,” Phichit snorted. “Though I dare say you are a moment away from pasting yourself at the glass like a child at a bakery display.”

Yuuri sniffed, not deigning to answer even as he glanced back outside. Phichit continued, voice turning sympathetic.

“Well it is still rather early. Following an assembly like that, I would not expect visitors before noon, and we’ve yet to pay a call to—”

A knock sounded at the entrance.

Yuuri nearly tipped over his teacup, the liquid sloshing as the door to the drawing room opened, letting in the Muramoto’s housekeeper: Mrs. Abelashvili. She walked briskly to Phichit with a small tray in hand, three gold edged calling cards resting on top.

“You have quite the handsome gentleman at your doorstep today, sirs,” she giggled, dark eyes sly as she urged the cards forward. Phichit raised his eyebrow but plucked one from the tray. Reading it over, his brows climbed even higher on his face.

“Thank you Ketty,” He murmured before turning to his companion. “I suppose I stand corrected. It appears your beau is an early riser after all.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri scolded, cheeks flushing even as the housekeeper was sent to retrieve their guest from the foyer. They both raced to clear up the area, smoothing down their clothes in an attempt to look more presentable. Yuuri lamented that he did not allow Minami to dress him in a smarter suit, too tired to put in more than a cursory attempt at his appearance that morning.

As he straightened his collar, Phichit grabbed their breakfast tray and stood, brushing away a few abandoned crumbs from the table between them.

“Oh do look at the time, I had forgotten that I have an urgent letter to write. Must not keep my uncle waiting,” Phichit proclaimed loudly even as his friend hissed at him.

“You are not seriously going to just leave me here alone with—”

“—My apologies, am I interrupting something?”

Viktor Seymour-Nikiforov, The Earl Yarmouth stood at the door, snowflakes still dusting the dark wool of his overcoat. He glanced between the room’s two occupants and the dirty tray before sweeping his bangs away from his eyes—clear and crystal bright.

Phichit was the first to recover.

“Not at all my lord, I was just leaving to attend to some business. If you’ll excuse me?” He said as if there was nothing odd about a gentleman such as himself carrying the remnants of a tea service in his own arms. He gave a short nod that Viktor reciprocated.

“Yes of course, I would hate to keep you.”

Phichit beamed, winking at Yuuri behind the lord’s back before he slipped out of the chamber entirely. Yuuri could feel the tips of his ears redden as Viktor seemed to waver between concern and bemusement as they were suddenly left on their own.

For a moment, time stood still.

The silence lengthened between them, the air slowly filling with the scent of briar and bergamot as their eyes locked. Breathing in, Yuuri was suddenly flooded by a deluge of memories—of sun-soaked days by the river, lazy evenings in the library, and a night of dancing entangled in the safety of familiar arms.

His heart panged.

Yuuri stood abruptly, remembering his manners as he bent in a courteous bow.

“Lord Yarmouth, good morning.”

Viktor dipped his chin, a barely there quirk to his lips. “Mr. Katsuki, I hope you are well?”

“Yes thank you,” Yuuri replied before sweeping his arm towards the seating arrangements. “Please sit.”

To his surprise, Viktor did not take the place on the chaise across from him—instead, the earl slipped into the armchair beside his own that Phichit had recently vacated, a mere arms-width apart. Settling into the brocade fabric, Viktor’s hair shone like spun gold under the morning light flooding in from the window beside them. It made him seem younger—the broad lines of his shoulders softening until he resembled the fae youth of his childhood.

Sitting opposite of each other, Yuuri could almost pretend they were in the salon at Ragley Hall rather than a terrace house in Brighton.

“Would you like some tea?” The omega offered, fighting not to fidget under attention of the man in front of him. “I can call Mrs. Abelashvili—the cook has been experimenting with the most delightful honey cakes.”

“Far be it for me to deny you, you have always had a sweet tooth,” Viktor leaned back in his seat “Besides, I will never turn down a cup of tea.”

They shared a small smile before Yuuri spurred himself into action.

“Then you shall have it.” Yuuri rang the bell to alert the housekeeper.

She arrived so abruptly after the second ring that she must have been listening from the other side of the door. Mr. Chulanont’s staff was as inquisitive as Phichit himself—though at least they also shared his penchant for loyalty. Ketty knew when to hold her tongue.

Within a few minutes of pleasantries and asking after each other’s families, they were well settled with snacks and sweets from the kitchen.

To Yuuri’s bewilderment however, the earl proceeded to ignore the sugar pot—taking his tea black and sweetened by a large dollop of jam which the omega was positive had been meant as an accompaniment to the scones beside it.

He paused in brewing his own cup, the fragrant green looseleaf he preferred when he had already ingested his morning’s dose of caffeine—irises wide as he watched Viktor take a sip of his strange concoction.

He blinked, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks as he heard a chuckle.

“You look surprised.”

Yuuri shrugged lightly, wriggling his nose slightly despite himself. “I have never seen someone take their tea like that before.”

The earl snickered as he tilted his head to the side, teeth white in a smirk.

“Yes well, it was a habit I picked up in Russia. Sometimes I will use honey but my preference has always been for raspberry currant. Does Mama not include it in her service? I could have sworn she did.”

Yuuri thought back to the cheerful periwinkle receiving room at Ragley where the marchioness often hosted her guests, offering savory tarts alongside sweeter confections.

“I have certainly seen her glass set, but all I have ever noticed is her ladyship having a preference for an extra spoon of sugar than her wife.”

Viktor hummed, considering. “You must be right. I forget how much she relishes her cream. It doesn’t have the same punch to it with the jam, so I suppose I’ll have to forgive her.”

“I wonder if she is the one who needs forgiveness.”

The accusation was out of Yuuri’s mouth before he could help himself. There was a moment of stillness between them and he could not bear to meet his childhood friend’s gaze, turning instead to stare out the window.

His answer, when it came, was quiet.

“So you _are_ angry with me.”

Yuuri blinked, his throat suddenly and traitorously tight. He cleared it before turning to the man before him, keeping his expression carefully blank.

“No, excuse me. I am just overtired from last night, my lord.” The tips of his ears heating as he realized he had forgotten himself once again.

Viktor licked his lips, sitting up straighter. “I suppose I should have written more—”

“Or at all.”

The words slipped out and Yuuri resigned himself to the fact that Viktor had always made him take leave of his senses. It appeared a decade of lost time was no cure for it.

“Yes, or at all.”

Viktor placed his cup down. He searched Yuuri’s face though the omega had no notion of what he was looking for. He was caught under those blue eyes—crisp as a winter’s day.

Yuuri tugged at his cravat—the silken fabric chafing against his scent glands. At least it dulled the bitter tang that was now likely saturating his smell.

“It is a matter of no consequence.” Yuuri muttered, unable to look away. “I am sure an Alpha such as yourself had a plethora of other tasks to occupy your time and attention. I should not have expected anything else.”

“No, that’s not what happened Yu—” Viktor started, only to catch himself as he bit down on his lower lip. Eyes flashing, he leaned forward; fingers steepled on the table before continuing.

“You must understand Mr. Katsuki, what it was like back then. My cousins were all gearing up for war, all anyone spoke of was honor and glory against the French.

“Then my noble uncle, with whom I was staying, was called to resume his post as general of his imperial majesty’s armies. I could not abide being left behind and was just old enough that Mama could not dissuade me, hot headed young alpha that I was.”

He hesitated, hands shifting so his palms faced up in placation. “Though I do not regret accepting my commission, I certainly wish I had handled my departure with more grace.”

Discomfort roiled in Yuuri’s chest even as he raised his chin, memories of years past flitting through his mind.

“You distressed your mother greatly. The Marchioness returned to her position in the admiralty and Lady Hertford-Nikiforova was, for long stretches, left by her lonesome.”

Another pause.

“It appears she was not the only one I distressed.”

Yuuri recoiled at that, shoulders drawing inwards as his fingers clutched at the buttons of his morning coat.

“You mock me.”

“I do not.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, unable to maintain eye contact any longer.

“You—I considered you a great friend my lord, when we were both children. You cannot fault me for worrying when, over the years, your letters dwindled to nothing and Napoleon breached Russia’s borders.” His hands clenched in fists beneath the table as he continued. “I had to piece together scraps of news and take comfort that Ragley Hall had not descended into mourning when we called upon it.”

For all the effortlessness of their interactions the night before, their conversation now was heavy and stilted and everything antithetical to what they once had as boys.

A heartbeat passed and then another before Viktor broke the silence, his response soft.

“I am humbled by your concern, sir—and beg apology for any grief I have caused you. Any neglect was wrought not from apathy but the faults of adolescence.”

Yuuri felt the sentiment like a physical touch, grazing against his too sensitive skin. Whatever he had expected when the earl had asked to call on him, it wasn’t this. Dismissal or curiosity, yes—but not regret.

Viktor’s hand reached across the table in an abortive movement, only to fall halfway against the surface between them. “And later it was far beyond me to impose upon you a renewed acquaintance.”

Yuuri’s chest was too small, lungs stinging and robbing him of air.

“I would not have thought it an imposition.”

The alpha regarded him carefully, the sharp angles of his face both familiar and alien. There was a gravity to him, a maturity that Yuuri had not been there to witness and made this new Viktor hard for him to read. Harder. Crystallized. 

There was something there though, in the gems of those sapphire irises—a flicker of emotion that skated just out of his grasp.

The silence stretched and reminded Yuuri once again that they were alone together. His governess would have had a stroke to see them, but how could he object when it felt like he sat before a ghost of memories past?

How could he be expected to behave any differently when Lord Yarmouth, _Viktor_ , was looking at him with eyes overlarge and full.

“Then dare I hope to call you a friend once more?

Yuuri’s answer was high and breathless. “If you wish.”

“I do.”

“Then you may.”

They both sat there, the awkwardness breaking like ice melt as they smiled at each other, a bit of that old giddiness returning to them.

It was almost too simple, a bandage over an old wound; a brokered peace.

But God—Yuuri had _missed_ him.

They spent a few more minutes finishing their tea and reminiscing over memories past, avoiding anything that cut deep or poked at old scars.

“How long are you in town, sir?” Viktor asked as he dabbed at the bow of his lips with a napkin. Yuuri’s eyes tracked the movement.

“Only until tomorrow or the day after, I hoped to be back in Alcester well before Yuletide.”

In truth, he had intended to leave for home days ago but his sudden heat had detained him. He had not wanted to travel before his scent had returned to normal.

Yuuri startled slightly when Viktor straightened, mouth pulled wide and turned up at the corners.

“What luck, I am expected there myself. I would be delighted to escort you home.”

Yuuri could hear the dull thud of his own pulse, speechless.

“I-I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.”

“You are not asking, I am offering.” Viktor canted his head, silver fringe falling over one eye. “It can perhaps serve as the start of an apology to a friend I have too long abandoned. What say you, Mr. Katsuki? We can take my carriage and save you a trip by the post.”

The older man radiated enthusiasm, and suddenly Yuuri was ten years old again, hurrying down the road to avoid a storm.

_‘Give me your hand, I will escort you home.’_

_‘Yuuri, please. The rain will start any second and as I will not leave you, it will drench us both.’_

_A hand reached out to him, warm and safe. ‘Ready?’_

Yuuri blinked, then heard himself say:

“Alright.”

The smile he received was heart-shaped and familiar.

“It is settled then.” Viktor grinned, canines visible just beneath his lips. He fiddled with his pocket chain before glancing down at his fob watch, smile faltering slightly.

“I have overstayed my welcome.” Indeed Yuuri realized he had played host to the bachelor for far longer than appropriate, “but I shall send for you tomorrow after breakfast.”

“I will be ready.”

They both stood. Viktor turned to leave, only to pause.

“Do you prefer to stop over in London first Mr. Katsuki? I just came from Hertford House and it is at your disposal, or would you rather a straight shot to Warwickshire?”

Yuuri coloured deeply, feeling his blush climb to his cheeks and back down his neck—caught up in the forwardness of the earl.

To stay in his town house—entirely unchaperoned—

“I find I am rather anxious to see my family again.” Yuuri flustered, voice reedier than he intended.

Viktor simply nodded to himself, undeterred.

“Then north we shall go, there will be time for London later.”

The younger man furrowed his brows, “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Viktor waved him off. “Tomorrow then—good day, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Good day, my lord.”

Viktor bowed; folding his coat over his arm as he exited the room without waiting for an usher.

Just like that, Yuuri was alone. He sank back into his chair with a long exhale, chin in his hands as he went back over the events of Viktor’s visit, staring blankly out the window.

He was watching the people below slushing through the streets, when he heard a noise from the hall, bringing him back to the present. Suddenly, Yuuri remembered an important fact he had managed to overlook during his conversation with Viktor: Phichit was meant to travel back with him to Alcester for the holidays, with Minami to accompany them both.

Yuuri groaned, letting his head drop down to the table with a thump.

They were never going to let him live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts:
> 
> -This chapter title is a quote by author Henry Fielding, 1707-1754  
> -The French invaded Russia in 1812, but were ultimately defeated by the Russian winter  
> -Regency Era balls would go on all through the night and attendees would normally go home around sunrise  
> -It is custom to pay a visit to your host the morning after  
> -It is rather scandalous to call upon someone before the afternoon like Viktor did  
> -Calling cards were given at the door to announce your arrival: 1 for the housekeeper's record book, 1 for recipients to display in their foyer (to show how popular they are), and 1 for who you are actually visiting  
> -Russian tea is often taken black with whole sugar cubes or other sweeteners like jam  
> -Hertford House was one of the multiple properties owned by the Marquis of Hertford in London. It was more a gated mansion than a townhouse  
> -Often, those who did not own their own carriages would take the "Post" or mail stagecoach to travel  
> -Brighton is on the southern coast of England, about 150 miles from Alcester. The journey would take 2-3 days
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr [@OverzealousShipper](https://overzealousshipper.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Cheers,  
> Satyrykal


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